


dementophobia

by ten_and_a_rose



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, a bit whump...ish?, but what the hell, dunno if i should tag that or not
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2017-08-18
Packaged: 2018-09-12 02:50:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9052303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ten_and_a_rose/pseuds/ten_and_a_rose
Summary: Just after Doomsday (fixit assumed), all the Doctor wants is to take Rose to Barcelona for some downtime.  Unfortunately, the universes have other plans as when one door closes, another opens…





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lvslie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lvslie/gifts).



> This is [dwdwsecretsanta](http://dwsecretsanta.tumblr.com) fic for the amazing, fantastic [Lvslie](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Lvslie/pseuds/Lvslie)!
> 
> I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. This is so00ooo un-Christmas-y-not-at-all-fluffy. If you know my writing at all you know there is angst and hurt/comfort here, but this is not a tragedy by any means. There is no Christmas in this fic, but I guarantee all will be well in the end. :)
> 
> Dementophobia, BTW, is the fear of mental illness.
> 
> No beta, but I hope I have caught any errors, which as usual are aaalll mine.

 

 

 

_Rose._

Thank all the gods he didn’t believe in.

Three weeks since he’d lost his grip on her hand in the crush of the rioting crowd – 21 days, 17 hours, 38 minutes, and 12.3256 seconds and suddenly the air was thick with it.  He reigned in the almost overpowering urge to burst through the shop’s glass doors, haul her off her feet and into his arms.

The problem was that he had no idea what would be waiting for him if he did.

_Careful._

This was a strange, dark place, and he was not good at careful.

~~0~~

 

_**Twenty one days, nineteen hours, and sixteen minutes earlier:**_

It was more than wishful thinking – the Beast had lied.  The storm had come and they survived – _she_ survived.  But it was a close thing, so close that 24 hours later it still bled into his vision every time he closed his eyes.  Her fingers slipped from the lever and she fell and he knew the sight would haunt him for the rest of his life.

But she was _here_.  She chose him over everything else, _told_ him with certainty in her eyes and an anxious but defiant set to her jaw.  “I’m never gonna leave you.”

She had promised him forever, and what he had not understood until that moment was that she meant it.

She _meant_ it.

And she almost, almost died.

But she didn’t, hadn’t, and a day later _almost_ had become the key – the courage to acknowledge what they were together, to take what she was offering, the one thing he so desperately wanted.  Someday perhaps she would put truth to Beast’s words – but not today.

Today, what he knew was all he wanted was to hold her until the universe died out and fell apart around them.

Today, what he said was all he wanted was to take her to Barcelona.

She broke into a smile that could power a thousand suns as he set the coordinates and sent them into the vortex.

Two minutes later it all went pear shaped.

The Tardis lurched violently, crying out in surprise in the back of his head as he grabbed the console.  He heard Rose yelp and shot a glance at her to see she’d been thrown sideways and was clinging precariously to a coral strut.  The ship made a second sharp roll and she lost her tenuous grip, flying toward the main rotor.  Just before impact he reached up to catch her by the waist with one hand and pull her tightly into him, cocooning her between his body and the control bank in front of him.

“What’s happening?!!?” she shouted, straining to be heard over the protest of biological and mechanical both pushed beyond their limits.

“Just hold on!” he yelled back, not daring to admit that he had no idea.

The console erupted in a fountain of angry sparks that propelled them away from it.  The whole ship shuddered, then –

SLAM!

They came to an instant stop that switched the direction of gravity and launched them forward toward the wall.

Which was now the floor.

He managed to shift his body just in time to turn them so he took the brunt of the blow.  She landed atop him with a soft “oof!” and everything went suddenly, eerily silent.

He felt a wave of confusion from the Tardis that quickly morphed into loud and pained indignation.  Good sign, that was, but –

Swiftly, he rolled Rose over so that she was beneath him.  She breathed a tiny gasp, and he felt a familiar thrill run up his spine as he pressed himself down against her.

“Just a – ”

The ship righted herself and they fell out and down against the grating, his back again taking the force of the collision.

She lay against him in a dazed heap, breathing hard, her forehead resting on his chest.

Simultaneously, they both blurted, “You alright?”

He would have chuckled under other circumstances, but he brushed her needless worry aside to voice his own.

“ _I’m_ fine.  Are _you_ hurt?”

Her own equilibrium returning, he felt her take in a huge gulp of air and push it out slowly.  “Don’t think so.”

She began to test herself but stilled when his hands moved purposefully over her, squeezing her ribs, skating across her back, frisking her for injuries.  Finding none, he relaxed, letting loose a huge sigh of relief.  Almost unconsciously, his hands continued to wander, tracing a soothing meandering over her shoulders, skimming across the skin of her arms.

She hummed softly.  He felt her smile against him, then without raising her head, she murmured, “Thank you.”

He huffed out a laugh and peered down at the top of her head.  “For crashing the Tardis?”

She giggled.  “No, you git.”  Pushing herself up with an arm on either side of him, she gazed down into his eyes. Her expression was so unguarded it stunned him.  “You kept me from getting hurt.”

No glib remark came to mind, and warmth bloomed inside his chest instead of panic.  They were so close, on the precipice, and once they fell – and they would, he knew that now – they could never go back.

He wanted to say more, but all that escaped him was, “Always.”

And then she was leaning down toward him as his fingers pushed through her hair.  Their lips millimetres apart, he could feel his hearts hammering and her breath against his cheek, and he knew, he _knew_ , and –

The cloister bell blared, earsplitting and frantic. Rose sprang upward, startled into laughter, and he stifled a groan of frustration and banged the back of his head against the grating.

“Really?   _Now!?_  A bit late for that, don’t you think???” he bellowed at the ceiling.

A mild zap from the base of the console stood his hair (even more) on end as admonishment, urgency, and a bit of regret filled that spot in his brain the Tardis occupied.  She genuinely didn’t want to interrupt them, but she needed his attention.

It was only when he stood that he understood her worry.  Something was _wrong_ , far more than a belly-flop landing wrong.  They had not made it to Barcelona.  He felt it marrow-deep when he reached out to gather the strands of Time, to get his bearings, and found nothing but dead space and snapped threads and probabilities drifting unmoored in the wreckage.

“Impossible,” he muttered in disbelief.

 ~~0~~

 

He should’ve pivoted on metaphorical heels, pointed the Tardis straight back the way they’d come without a second thought.  They certainly should never have left the safety of coral and blue wooden doors.   _Gingerbread houses_ – or the stuff of nightmares. This was, it seemed, the latter.

His gazed flicked up again to the sign above the shop – his one lifeline, this single mad hope he’d stumbled upon when all else failed him.

_Bad Wolf Baristas._

He was _certain_ he’d walked this street less than 24 hours ago and the place had been something else entirely, but he couldn’t hold that in his head long enough to care.  At that moment, all that mattered was standing just inside that shop.  Icy jaws in the pit of his stomach gnawed away at the sheer relief of seeing her alive ( _she's alive, not dead, she’s not dead!_ )…

How much damage had been done?

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

******PRESENT:**

_Careful._

They were probably watching him right now.

_This is a good plan,_ he thought, mainly to reassure himself.  He was not about to let her out of his sight now, so it _had_ to be a good plan – though it was very sketchy and honestly quite a bad plan.

Which was to say it was his only plan and consisted chiefly of the word “run.”

He simply didn’t know enough after chasing down three weeks of dead ends and repeated denials of information.  He wasn’t accustomed to being in the dark.  He couldn’t be clumsy.

He tamped impatience down hard and paused to watch her through the window as he shoved the hands that itched to touch her, overactive desperate hands, deep into his pockets.

Those hands slowly balled into fists, nails gouging into his palms.

Under other circumstances it might have taken him a moment to recognize her. Her hair was unkempt and dark, stripped of its golden colour and wedged carelessly inside a hat.  Her face was devoid of makeup, and dark half-moons marred the delicate skin just above her cheeks.  She was thinner, painfully angular and gaunt; her uniform was ill-fitting and hung from her shoulders at odd angles.

The uniform.

On its own it was innocuous, a plain grey thing, but it embodied so efficiently the dread that had dogged him since she’d gone missing.  Three large, bright orange letters screamed from both sides of her body – MMH.

Ministry of Mental Hygiene.

Underneath the letters, she wore the evidence of being catalogued, inventoried and labelled: “Permanently Sectioned.”

Anxiety clutched at him and he felt ill.

~~0~~

 

**_Twenty one days, nineteen hours, and one minute earlier:_ **

The Doctor stared at the console monitor and hated everything he saw.  “Well.  From what I can tell, I think we’ve landed in a public park.”  He wrinkled his nose.  “In _Cardiff.”  That bloody rift.  Of course._

Rose rocked eagerly onto the balls of her feet.  “Alright! Let’s go, then.”

One last glance at the screen and then he began flipping switches and turning dials in what Rose had affectionately dubbed _setting the parking brake_.

He felt himself receding, shoving his feelings aside and shutting down.   _Running away,_ he thought morosely.

Without breaking his stride, he said, “No.  You’re staying here.”

Rose blinked.  “What?”

Unable to look at her, he flicked the last switch and repeated it.  “You’re staying here.”

In the periphery of his vision, he saw her stiffen and cross her arms.  He could feel her scowl.  “Like hell I – ”

His walls – and his composure – disappeared in a flash.

He whipped around so suddenly she jumped.   _“No!”_ he snapped, meeting her glare for glare.  “ _You_ are _not_ leaving the Tardis!”

She rolled her eyes. “Haven’t we done this enough?”

“I don’t know!” he fired back.  “Have we?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she demanded.

He threw both arms in the air.  “Alternate universe, Rose!   _Anything_ could be out there!”

“Yeah!  Which is why you need me with you!”

He careened away from her and paced.  “We shouldn’t even _be here!_ And the Tardis should be badly damaged, but she seems fine! I _sealed_ the prime universe, Rose, I thought I sealed it _tight_ , but this is clearly not it, so something’s gone _completely_ wrong.  And it’s bad, it is _bad_ , I know that much!”

“Doct – ”

He whirled on her again and snarled, “You almost _died_ yesterday!”

Her shocked, wounded expression drained the fight from him instantly.  He’d never turned his temper on her like that, not since his last body. What in creation had come over him?

Aghast, he gawked at his own feet. “I mean – ”

He backed up one fumbling step, then another.  “That is – ”

His knees hit the jump seat and he sank into it.  “I – ”

He stared at the hands lying numb in his lap.  “I can’t – ”

_I can’t lose you._  He’d almost said it.  Almost. Only almost and there was still so much more to say.  The words were simple, but he was drowning in them.

His floundering ceased when he felt the warmth of her palm against his cheek.

Of all the things she could’ve done.

He leaned into her hand and sighed, murmuring ruefully into her fingers.  “I’m sorry.”

A single heartbeat passed, then she drew his chin up softly to meet her gaze.  There was only love there.  “I know.”  She pressed her forehead to his.  “I worry about you too.”

He mirrored her words, a half-smile beginning at one corner of his mouth.  “I know.”

She pulled back to look him fully in the eyes.  “We’re better off together, yeah?”

He couldn’t deny that. They both knew there had been _two_ levers yesterday.  “Yeah.”  His smile grew.

“Shiver and shake?”

At that his face lit up completely, and he shook his head.  “Oh, no.   _We,_ Rose Tyler, are the Stuff of _Legend_.”

She beamed, and _oh_ he wanted to pull her into his lap and chase that beautiful grin with his lips.

But that would have to wait.  They had a universe to investigate.

~~0~~

 

They stepped outside hand in hand.

As soon as he left the protective bubble of the Tardis, however, he jerked to a stop.  The force yanked Rose back and she stumbled awkwardly.

“Doctor?”

_Something’s –_

From nowhere, a stabbing pain shot through his head. He grunted, slumping, heel of his hand pressed hard against his temple.

“Doctor!”  She spun around and grabbed him as his world tilted sideways.

He felt her arms around his waist and dimly realised he was leaning against the closed door.

He knew this pain.  It felt like a dampening field, telepathic resonance blocking his senses like white noise blocked sound.  It rattled through him, bouncing from synapse to synapse before settling into a dull, persistent throb against the base of his skull.

He searched for his bond with the Tardis and found only static.

Resigning himself to the headache he knew was staying the duration, he straightened with grim determination.

Rose’s eyes were wide, searching.  “Are you alright?  What happened?”

He answered with a curt nod.  “I’m fine.  Just – hang on a tic.”  He pulled the psychic paper from his pocket and flipped it open.

“Can you read that?”

She peered at the paper curiously.  “It’s blank.”

“Oh that’s – that’s brilliant,” he growled, snapping it shut.  “Just _brilliant_.”

“Doctor, what is it?  What’s wrong with the paper?”

He shook his head.  “It’s not the paper, Rose.  It’s me.  There’s some sort of telepathic interference, a broadcast of some kind.  It just caught me off guard.”  He furrowed his brow.  “Don’t know why the Tardis didn’t pick it up.”

“Interference?”  She regarded him thoughtfully.  “So you’re saying you’re not telepathic now?”

He scowled.  “At the moment – no.”

She grabbed his hand, pulling him forward, and he suspected she was deliberately trying to lighten his mood when she suddenly grinned and remarked, “Well, then, you’ll just have to make do.  We apes manage it every day, y’know.”

He couldn’t help but grin back. “No telepathy, one heart – it’s a wonder you people ever make it out of bed!” he teased.

A laugh bubbled from her, but it died when she realised something.  “But Doctor… If humans aren’t telepathic, then why even have it?  That field, I mean.  What’s it for?”

He stopped short.  “That, Rose Tyler, is a very good question.”  His lips settled into a thin line.

~~0~~

 

**PRESENT:**

He braced himself and opened the door to the shop, grateful for the slow time of day and lack of customers.  A bell rang signalling his entrance, but Rose didn’t look up.

He stood in the doorway, gauging her more closely and willing her to look at him.  She steadfastly ignored everything but the table in front of her.  She was moving in a decidedly un-Rose-like fashion, as if she were afraid to be noticed.  Every motion was calculated to make herself small, as if she could seep into the tables and chairs.  She looked like she might shatter if he touched her.

Something deep inside his chest twisted into anguish and ice.

_What have they done to you?_

He was yanked from his thoughts by a young woman who chirped, “Hello!  What can I get you today?”

What?  Oh, right. He was in a coffee shop.  Apparently this universe had never heard of tea.

_Careful._

He couldn’t afford to attract suspicion. And maybe if Rose heard his voice…

“Erm…” He squinted at the menu, pretending to mull over his choices until he could manage a full sentence.  “I think I’ll have espresso, please.”

“Alright, sir!  Any enhancers with that?”

He bit back a grimace.  Enhancers.  Mood stabilisers the people here downed like fizzy drinks despite the water supply already laced with them.  There were also anxiolytics in the the vitamin juice sold by the gallon (with this universe’s Pete Tyler at the helm), a sprinkle of anti-psychotics in the food… And apparently he could also have them in a panoply of flavours in the coffee he didn’t plan to drink.

The government – the _Regime_ – fed on a culture of propaganda aimed at phobia and repression of mental disorder.

It was a dictatorship rife with manipulation and mind control.  Rose was evidence in spades of that.

Still, he managed to keep his reply pleasant and even. “No, ta.”

The girl nodded, took his payment, then turned toward the machine.  The instant her back was to him, he glanced over at Rose.

She still gave him no sign she knew he was there.

As his unwanted coffee was brewing, he ambled deliberately over to the large round table she was wiping in measured, perfectly even circular strokes.  He perched himself gingerly on a stool, elbows on the wet table, and leaned forward.

Low and cautious, he said, “Rose.”

She didn’t react.

He tried again, a bit louder.  “Rose, it’s me.”

Nothing changed.  Nothing.  She didn’t so much as twitch _.  Why wouldn’t she look at him?_

The sound of the machine died down and he pulled back just as the girl turned toward him with a Stepford smile, drink in her outstretched hand.

“Thank you!” he chimed with a cheerfulness he couldn’t begin to feel.  He took the foam cup with its plastic lid (some things never changed) and quietly placed himself at the table next to Rose.

He sat, pretended to sip, and waited.  He almost panicked when she moved to clean another table, but finally, _finally_ the girl behind the counter disappeared into the back room.

Immediately he shot to his feet and propelled himself toward Rose as fast as he dared.

He didn’t want to frighten her, but he couldn’t contain his anxiety.  “Rose!”

Her name hung in the air between them, and he forced himself to wait.  For a few long seconds she simply went on working, but just as he was reaching his wits’ end, she spoke.

Only her lips moved.

“Go away,” she whispered.

It was the smallest of voices, tremulous and childlike.  Hearing it almost broke him, her words themselves lost in the maelstrom of emotion coursing through his veins.

“Oh, Rose, I’m sorry,” he breathed, hearts cracking and voice escaping before he could stop it.  “I’m so sorry it took me so long to find you.”

Without thinking he reached out to touch her face.

She gasped and flinched as if someone meant to hit her.  He pulled back instantly, horrified, arm left to hang numbly from his shoulder.  She squeezed her eyes shut, and for an eternal second the only sound was her startled breathing slowly returning to normal.

When she regained herself she returned to her task, wiping the already clean table in the same slow, steady circles.

He had no idea what was going on in her head – what she believed or even perceived.  He was starting to despair of getting her out of there quietly.

Still, there was nothing for it — all he could do now was soldier on.  “Rose, it’s _me_.”  He ducked his head, trying to make her see him.  “It’s the Doctor.”

It was his name that did it.  She froze.

He took that as a good sign.  “I’ve come to get you.  I’m here to take you home – back to the Tardis, with me.”

The rag slipped from her fingers.  She began to tremble.  Tears pooled, wetting her lashes and threatening to spill onto her cheeks.

He held his breath.

“Please,” she finally whispered again in that same broken voice.  “Please don’t.”

He was at a loss.   _“Rose.”_  He was careful to keep his voice even and gentle.  “Why?  Why can’t I bring you home?”

“You’re not – ” her voice cracked, choked by a tiny sob.  A tear slipped over and ran down her cheek and he longed to wipe it away, but he didn’t dare.

“You have to go.”  She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

When she spoke again, it was barely audible.

_“You’re not real.”_

One of his hearts stuttered, skipping a beat and returning the next one as an odd bang that punched through his system.

Words.  Three words. With six he’d taken down a government; with only half as many, she’d stopped his heart.

For some reason, it hadn’t occurred to him she might think _he_ was a delusion.

Oh.  Oh, he was thick – everything made sense now.  Oh, this was bad.

This was very, very bad and he heard noises coming from the shop’s back room and they were abruptly running out of time.

With more force, he said, “Rose, look at me.”

She shook her head.

“Look at me, Rose,” he commanded.   _“I. am. real._  I’m right in front of you.”

She shut her eyes again and shook her head more vigorously.  Thousands of possibilities swarmed his brain, and he began to panic in earnest.  The sound from the back room grew louder.

“Rose, we have to go.”  She backed away from him a step.

His voice took on a pleading tone.  “Whatever they’ve done to you, I promise I can fix it, love, I promise.  But you have to come with me now.”

When she tried to step back again, he took her by the shoulders.

It was a terrible mistake.

An earsplitting alarm blared and Rose screamed a tormented _“No!”_ at the ceiling then went rigid, seizing like someone snared in a high voltage line.

“Rose!” he shouted, shaking her despite himself.  _“Rose!”_

It ended as suddenly as it had begun.  She crumpled bonelessly against him and he held fast to her, repeating her name again and again like a mantra that would somehow keep her with him.   _She isn’t dying, she can’t be dying, please, not dying –_

His fingers fumbled at her neck and found a strong, steady pulse, a reassuring drumbeat.

He sank to the floor with her head in his lap.

Her eyelids fluttered open at the movement, and flecks of luminescent gold beneath them ghosted out, framing her face in a halo.

“My Doctor,” she murmured, two dazed words of recognition and love that made hope flutter tiny wings against his chest.

Then she slipped into unconsciousness, and realisation sank in.

Glowing.  She’d been _glowing._

Footsteps sounded on the tile floor.  In the wake of her collapse, he’d completely forgotten they weren’t alone.

His head snapped up just in time to catch the brunt of a balled fist against his jaw.

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

**_Twenty one days, eighteen hours, and fifty minutes earlier:_ **

The Doctor scanned their surroundings.  They burst with a multitude of flora, exactingly planned and meticulously tended.

Beside him, Rose breathed, “Blimey.”

He turned back and regarded his ship.  She bore the evidence of a difficult landing and stood slightly off-kilter, one corner gouging a track in the grass before digging into the earth below it.  She rested inside a circle of manicured hedges (which was good) precisely two feet tall (which was not at all good).  She was uncomfortably exposed and he admitted (only to himself, of course) that he might actually need to look into a proper repair for the chameleon circuit.

Something else also tickled his brain, something familiar, but it was elusive and shimmering just out of reach.  

At least the horizon bore a resemblance to the Cardiff skyline, though the garden park was certainly different.

It was also unnervingly quiet.

He stepped over the hedgerow and, though she didn’t need help, reached back for Rose, looping his arms around her waist and pulling her completely up and off her feet.  She squeaked in surprise and then grinned, throwing her arms around his neck.

Swinging around, he intended to put her down straightaway.  He honestly did.

But her breath was warm soft puffs against his ear and she was so, so _alive_ and _here_ and…

Finally, reluctantly uncomfortable, her voice intruded.  “Doctor, I can’t – Not that I mind – but I…”

With a start, he realised her trainers were still dangling well off the ground.

“Oh!  Oh, right!”

Carefully he lowered her to her feet and unwrapped her from his impromptu embrace as he felt heat suffusing his face, all the way to the tips of his ears.  One hand immediately reached for the back of his neck and he tried to look anywhere but at her as he murmured, “Erm, I – sorry.”

She only beamed at him and took his hand, lacing their fingers together.

Never before in his long, long life had he acted like this.  He didn’t wonder why.

Instead he inclined his head toward the stone path a few steps away, the one that seemed to lead most directly into the city, and they began to walk.

~~0~~

 

**_Twenty one days, eighteen hours, and twenty minutes earlier:_ **

It took them a full half hour to find the edge of the gardens, but it was jarringly clear when they did.  They walked through a lush archway and just as he began to wonder if the city was actually populated, the sounds of urban life rushed into him like air into a vacuum. He felt Rose jolt beside him.

They’d reached the end.

“Doctor, that was – ” He nodded before Rose finished the sentence.  “– _weird._ ”

“A soundproof barrier,” he noted.  This, the telepathic field – too much technology, far too advanced.  That earlier sense of _something_ taunted him again, tingling and skimming his subconscious.

The way before them held an ornamental gate that opened into some kind of central plaza. With a deep breath, he opened it and they stepped through.

The area held the usual scattering of shops and markets, but also a large, severe building dominating the far end, one whose dull colours, lack of signs, and sparse windows meant it could only be something official, governmental.  He noticed a large gathering of people in front of it also.

But before he could see much more, something in the corner of his eye caught his attention. He turned toward Rose, and she was staring back the way they’d come with an unreadable expression.

She pointed.

A gargantuan sign marked the park’s entryway, proclaiming it “Rose Hill Public Gardens,” despite its lack of either hills or roses (curious, that latter).  He could have counted the name as a simple coincidence –

Except that Pete Tyler’s face smiled out at them above the slogan _Rewarding Work Therapy for the Sectioned; Respite for the Healthy._ Beneath that, it read _Funded by_ _Vitex Neurotechnology_ _, a subsidiary of Vitex Health, Inc._

~~0~~

 

**PRESENT:**

The Doctor reeled back with a yelp, landing flat on his back.  Rose fell away awkwardly and landed curled in a heap at the feet of the man looming over him.

The _large_ man with a hell of a right hook, who reached out and dragged him up with one hand by the front of his shirt.  The other hand hovered threateningly, still balled into a fist.

“What the _soddin’ hell_ do you think you’re _doing?”_ the man demanded.

Regaining his wits, the Doctor calculated several possible outcomes before pushing them all aside, glancing at the man’s name tag, and fixing the man with a piercing glare.  He was acutely aware of Rose beside him – insensate, hurt, who knew what – and his eyes held all the black of the Oncoming Storm.

“I would suggest, _George,_ ” he replied, his calm tone deceptive, a jarring contrast to thunderous eyes, “that you unhand me.”

George blinked, taken aback.

_“Now.”_

George paused, a millisecond of consideration, then he let go.  With a teeth rattling thud, the Doctor’s back hit the cold tile floor.  Unfazed, he instinctively reached for Rose, snatching her away just as George lunged forward.

Victorious, the Doctor stood with her nestled securely in his grip.

Oh, she felt so light.  Insubstantial, as if the atoms of her existence could lose the will to keep her whole and slip away, disperse and disappear.

Before despair could settle in too far, George grabbed at her again, growling, “You put her down, y’ bloody arse!”

The Doctor spun neatly away from his grip. “I think not,” he retorted.  “I’ll be taking her with me.”

George looked genuinely shocked.  “She’s _my_ Sec, you idiot.  You don’t just pick one you like and haul ‘em away!  Are you trying to cost me good money, or are you just _stupid?”_

“I’m many things, George,” he replied in measured words, “but stupid is not one of them.”

George rolled his eyes.  “Moron!  You’ve already upset her enough to reset.  If you take her outside her assigned zone, the implant will _kill_ her, don’t you _know that_?”

This time both his hearts faltered for an instant.

_Implant._

Words again.

One word.  Seven letters.

Seven letters and his blood turned to tiny shards of liquid glass, thick and biting in his veins.

It must be a neural implant.  With the potential to kill.

His mouth opened slightly, clicked shut, opened again until he was gaping like a frantic fish.

An off button.  A kill switch.

They’d put a grenade in her brain.

His ears roared and his vision narrowed as he stared down at her face and clutched her that much more tightly.  His original idea, his half-baked plan to grab her hand and run – it would’ve ended her.

He fought away the sting of tears at the tangle of love and guilt and fear and rage that washed over him in a wave he couldn’t hold back.  There was silence as he gathered the pieces of his psyche together and mustered the will to look up again.

George had been silent – or if he’d spoken, the Doctor hadn’t heard.  The man’s expression was no longer angry – it was speculative and guarded and he appeared to be gauging the Doctor’s intentions, sizing him up.

Finally George crossed his arms and sniffed, “You know her, then.”

The Doctor regarded Rose again.  She’d lost her hat in the scuffle and he could see her fully; she looked like she’d been through hell, her face pale and angular and framed by messy dark hair that didn’t seem to belong to her.  

“Yeah,” he answered, voice cracking.  “She’s my – ”  What could he say?   _Bloody hell._  He swallowed thickly.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for her,” he finally croaked.   _Oh, you’ve no idea._

A glimmer of empathy stole over George’s face and he seemed to shrink somehow, to soften.

“Oh,” he muttered, understanding.  “Aha.”  He fumbled a bit.  “And – and you weren’t notified?”

The Doctor’s hand jerked as it tried to migrate to the back of his neck without letting go of Rose.  “We’re – we – we travel.  We aren’t from – ” He cringed, knowing how he must sound.  “We aren’t from around here.”

“Ah.  Well,” said George.  If he was suspicious, it didn’t show.  He regarded his shoes for an awkward second before scrubbing his face with both hands. Nodding to himself, he puffed his cheeks and blew out a huge, sighing breath.

“Let’s, um – let’s get her in the back,” he suggested. “She’ll be out for a while.”

The Doctor watched him half-warily as he locked the front door and switched its sign from OPEN to CLOSED.  “I sent Annie home after she finished with you.  Before all the commotion,” he explained.  “Can’t stay open without anyone to mind the store. Besides, we could use the quiet.”

There was little choice but to trust him.  Taking care not to jostle the bundle asleep in his arms, the Doctor followed this stranger named George around the counter and into an area marked “employees only.”

~~0~~

 

The back room was actually rooms, in the plural. George led the Doctor past a cramped business office and into a small alcove.  Through a half-open door he caught a glimpse of a Spartan-looking loo. To his surprise he saw there was another door, obscured from view unless they were directly in front of it.  It was bolt-locked, and George reached into the pocket of his shirt to retrieve a key dangling from a frayed piece of twine.

Finally the door swung open to reveal what was apparently a living area.  It was windowless, with a metal frame bed pushed against the far bare stone wall and an aged, sagging sofa sitting to one side.  To the other, a computer sat on a desk strewn with papers and, unexpectedly, numerous devices and bits of electronics as well.  A single chair was pushed in against the desk.

George nodded toward the bed and the Doctor lay Rose gingerly down and settled himself next to her.

“I – ” the Doctor began, but before he could say another word the man silenced him with a finger in the air.

He closed and locked the door, then reached into a recessed area next to it in the old brick.  He flipped a switch then nodded, satisfied.  “It jams the listeners,” he said.  “If anyone’s paying attention.  Never know.  We can talk now.”

Abruptly, the Doctor’s head swam then snapped into place, resolving into a clarity that had been missing outside the Tardis.  Startled, he realised that the vague throbbing in his head was _gone_.

With a gentle pressure, the song of his ship bloomed joyfully inside his mind.

He rocketed off the bed, mind racing, as energised as he was stunned.  “George! What is that?  What did you just do?”

George took a step back.  “I just – the Ministry, they listen in sometimes. Check up on us.  I figured you’d at least know that.”

The Doctor nodded impatiently.  “Yes, yes, but the device you’re using – for a bit of privacy, I’ll wager, yes?”  George nodded, bemused.

The Doctor picked up steam and speed as hope surged through him.  “Did you make it yourself?  This is vital, George, vital.   _Did you make it?”_

George nodded again and gave the Doctor a questioning look.

“Fantastic, George, fantastic, _excellent!  Molto bene!”_ he proclaimed.

George couldn’t help but smile a bit at the sudden, confusing enthusiasm.

The Doctor clapped him on the back and continued, “Ah, George.  George, George, George.  There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy, yadda yadda and all that.  You’ve done more than you know with that thing.”

George furrowed his brow.  “I have?”

The Doctor’s eyes were shining.  “Oh, yes!  And now you need to tell me.”

George frowned suddenly.  The Doctor plowed forward, blithely undeterred.  “Tell me what you did, George.”

“I think – ” he began, gesturing.

The Doctor cut him off and fixed him with an intense, burning stare.  “George, I need to know what – ”

Rose’s soft whimper cut through everything and straight into him.

He whirled around just in time to hear another whimper turn to a sharp cry.

He was beside her in two long strides - just as she began to thrash in earnest.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it's taken me entirely too long to get this chapter posted! I had intended for it to be longer, but as I was writing, it developed so that the chapter's end seemed a natural break point. The next one is half-finished and hopefully should not be such a long wait. If you're sticking with me, I love you! ♥

**_Twenty one days, eighteen hours, and fifteen minutes before:_ **

The Doctor’s unease ratcheted a notch tighter, crawling up his spine like an itch he couldn’t scratch.   _Not Pete, not this, not again…_  Good man or not – and he knew Pete’s World’s version had a few frayed moral edges – encounters between them invariably ended in pain.

Especially for Rose. It was too soon.  She shouldn’t have to do this.

She gawked at the sign.

“Neuro – neuro _technology_?  I reckon that’s a lot more than vitamin drinks.”

“It is.”  The word worried him, especially in this context. Human endeavours into the merger of mind and machine tended to go spectacularly wrong.  Who was Pete in this world?  Who was he _to_ this world if he were mucking about freely with such things?  Or was it not what it seemed?  He hoped for the latter.

Rose gave voice to his thoughts.  “Sectioned? Isn’t that when you… like when you go mad and they lock you up?”

“Well, yeah,” he replied, “though there’s a lot more to it than that for you lot, by your time at least.”  He waved his hand at the sign with distaste.  “It’s not meant to be a, a – ” He grimaced.  “ – permanent _label_.”

“Sounds like it is here.”

He grunted vaguely and twisted away from the offending thing, wanting to pull them both free of it, but the wistfulness in her voice called him back.

“He looks older.”

He really hadn’t paid much mind and didn’t particularly want to, but for her he turned his attention to Pete Tyler’s oversized head.

He _was_ older.  Undoubtedly the photo had been altered to conceal obvious imperfections, but he still carried the lines and ridges of age, and what little hair he had left was carefully sculpted grey-white fluff with just a leftover hint of reddish-brown hovering above his ears.

“That he does.”

A long pause stretched thin between them as she began absently gnawing her thumbnail, and he knew what was coming next.  To lose her Mum one day, then to be dragged the very next into another universe rife with unexplored possibility – it was just cruel, and how could she not?

Hesitantly, haltingly, she tried.  “Do you think, um, maybe… What about…”

He took both her hands in his, gently interrupting to turn her toward him, away from her father’s aging doppelganger.  She deflated, hanging her head and sighing before he’d even opened his mouth.  It was the first they’d talked of Jackie since the white room.

“Rose.”  Her name burned his throat.  “You’ve every right to ask, and I understand, I do.” Of all the words in any language, just then he hated _but_ the most.  He forced it out.  “But you must already know we _can’t_.”

So faint he almost missed it, she gave a despondent, silent nod.

“Remember the first time?  What I said about gingerbread houses?”

Focus still on the pavement, she whispered, “Yeah.”

“Do you understand what I mean?”

She nodded again, finally lifting her head with a soft sniff, obviously fending off tears.  He felt something crack a little in the vicinity of his hearts.  It was his fault.  Coming back had been her own choice, but he was the one who’d sent her away in the first place – who’d _forced_ her to choose.

He’d never dreamt she would choose him.  He hadn’t understood.  And now that he did, it was too late even for a man with a time machine.  Everything she’d given up to stay with him – how could he ever be worthy of that?

She found her voice and it brought him back to the here and now.  “You mean like in Hansel and Gretel.  The gingerbread house looked so good, but it was a trick.”

“Yes.”  He watched her with soft, regretful eyes, then dropped her hand to wipe away the single tear that had bested her, smudging her makeup. “We don’t know much about this place yet, but trying to find Ja – anyone is a very bad idea.”

“Yeah,” she murmured, then more resolutely, “I get it, Doctor.  I do.”

She took a deep breath, took his hand, and turned toward the plaza with nothing more to be said. “So, ’Rose Hill Gardens,’” she mused idly.  “Y’think there’s another me here?”

The Doctor’s lips quirked into a hint of a smile.  “Could be.”

She shot him a sidelong glance.  “Maybe this time you can be the little dog, then.”  A glimmer of mischief made its way into her expression.  She cocked her head to the side and he knew she was picturing a little Yorkshire Terrier.  “A dog named Doctor…  Well, you’ve got the hair for it…”

“Oi!”  He reached up with his free hand to sweep it over his head.  “I’ll have you know this body has – ”

“ – really _great_ hair,” she finished for him.  He sputtered and she burst into laughter.

Helpless, his indignance – mostly feigned for her benefit anyway – vanished and he grinned like the besotted idiot he knew he was, grateful just to hear her laugh.

They walked as her laughter died down to sporadic giggling.

The giggling stopped abruptly, her attention shifting just as his did.  Something was happening at the far side of the square where he’d noticed people gathering earlier.

“What’s going on over there?”

~~0~~

 

**PRESENT:**

From his First Office atop Torchwood Tower, the Autocrat of the United Welsh Empire stared out at the Cardiff skyline.  His domain sprawled large before him, an expanse of steel and brick gradually merging into the green and blue of the entire nation as it stretched to the horizon and beyond.

Peter Alan Tyler stared, but he didn’t really see, not right then.  He was elsewhere, mired in the distant past, and he couldn’t seem to get unstuck.

Reaching into his breast pocket, he pulled out the one thing he always carried there.  It was all he’d kept.  Faded and cracking, the girl’s impish grin was still unmistakable.  Snared in recalling the moment, he ran his fingers along the flat surface of the photo.  He’d snapped it himself.  Poised to blow out eight candles, she paused when he called her name; she waited, shining just for him, and with one a click of the shutter he plucked her soul from the aether and made her immortal.  If he concentrated he still had the haptic memory, could still feel that click against his fingertips.

That was some forty-three years ago – _before_.  Before he’d only been Pete, average working class Pete, all grand ideas and no follow-through – nobody special.  But _after_ – he _changed_ , changed like an earthquake, and he took Wales and the world with it stampeding into the future.

And he wasn’t even Welsh.  He once found endless amusement in that, but lately…

He was getting maudlin in the twilight of his life.

From behind him he heard a throat clear. Quickly, he tucked the photo away and turned to see the Minister standing deceptively primly in the doorway, a tablet clutched in the crook of one arm.  As always, she was flanked on either side by her bodyguards, and his own stood just behind them, keeping watch in the outer rooms.

“Hello, Maddie.”  He was one of a very few people allowed to call her that, a fact he could not help appreciating despite their robust, long-standing mutual animosity.

She was his wife, after all.

She inclined her head toward him, dark curls swaying.  “Pete.”

He beckoned to her, so she waved the guards away, closed the door, and sauntered into the room.  Her features stretched into a smile he would have called predatory, were it not the only one in her repertoire.

She gestured at his desk and the tablet like hers that rested there, its screen glowing.  “How’s your little _pet_ today?”

One sentence in and she’d already managed to get under his skin.  She had talent.  “Didn’t I make it your job to know that even better than I do?” he snapped as he picked up his Ministry trackpad.

Her smile didn’t falter.  “Of course, darling.  But you’re keeping such a close eye on all the extra work we’re putting in on the dear little thing.”

“And you damned well know why.”  He glanced down, checking the display with its green orb hovering above an aerial view of a row of old shops.  There was data indicating she’d reset a few moments ago, but that was to be expected from time to time.  He put it down.

Dropping all pretense, she flipped her hand at him petulantly.  “Yes, yes. I know how important this is to you.”

Suddenly he was genuinely irked.  “ _Not_ just to _me,_ Madeline.  Quit trying to have a go round.  You saw the same interrogation video I did, and every bit of her mad story is true.  The genetic map, we ran it – ”

“Twelve times, I _know_.  I supervised the last four personally, as well as the second interrogation, if you recall.”

He plowed over her.  “She’s a _gift_ , Maddie.  From Them. We couldn’t exactly turn it down, could we?”

She scowled.  “That’s precisely what worries me.”

“Why? Why now, why _this?_ ”  He pointed emphatically at the tablet’s screen.  “We’ve had this conversation already!  After all our Associates have given us – ”

“Technology!  Knowledge and technology, for which we provided _compensation_.”  She thumped her own trackpad down next to his and both hands shot to her hips.  “But _this?_ This is _not_ the same.”

He crossed his arms.  “Really?  Enlighten me.”

One exasperated hand rubbed her forehead then slapped down forcefully against her thigh.  “Sucking a living version of your dead daughter through the Void to dump her at your feet and call her a _gift!?_ Asking for nothing in return?  You can’t see the _difference?!”_

His response was an irate snort.

She shook her head.  “She isn’t a gift; she’s a _debt_ aimed straight at you, and we’ll _all_ be paying Hell when They decide it’s come due!  Don’t you _understand_ that?”

His temper snapped. _“Fine! Yes!  Of course I do!”_ he shouted.  “You attended the audience with me.  You know we had no choice!”

“We _did_ have a choice!  We could – we _should_ have cordially refused and either given her back or had her _terminated!”_

 _“Cordially refused??!”_ he roared.  “ _Terminated??!_  You can’t be serious!  You’ve always known the way the arrangement works.  They approach us with trade terms, They _don’t_ negotiate, and _we don’t refuse.”_

“Our dealings with them are a dangerous arrangement I’ve _always_ objected to!  And now They’ve got that much _more_ power over us while you’re distracted, scheming to make _a Sec_ your successor!  Don’t you think it’s a little stupid on its own to think the people will accept her?  You’re letting your personal feelings get in the way of any good sense, Pete!”

Fists clenched at his sides, he closed his eyes, gulped in air and held it.  Maddie was as sharp and shrewd as he was, and even more ruthless.  Her assessment and her accusation were the next logical steps in the conversation they had _not_ yet had, and he knew it.  Truth could be difficult.  Truth exposed weakness.  But _she_ knew his weaknesses already.

Slowly his hands loosened and uncurled as he let it out in a long, calming exhale.  When he opened his eyes again they were focused, crystal blue and full of clarity.

Time for the truth.

With absolute conviction, he nodded curtly and said, “Yes.  I am.”

She seemed too stunned to reply even though her mouth hung slightly open.

“You are absolutely on point,” he continued.  “My feelings are taking precedence here.”

He moved to stand behind his desk and reached for his tablet again.  “I am old, selfish, and human, and I want my daughter back.  I didn’t ask for the opportunity, but now that I have it, I’m taking it.  When the tab must be paid, _I_ will see to it.”

Her mouth clicked shut.  She regarded him the way one might an infuriating, impossible puzzle.  He stared back, confident and determined.

That was the instant the trackpad began flashing.

Immediately, it had Pete’s full attention.  “What the hell?”

Maddie snatched hers up just as the alarm began, a shrill piercing wail from their identical tablets that set his teeth on edge. A spike of adrenaline hit him.

He brushed the sphere with a fingertip and the alarm thankfully silenced as data cascaded down one side of the tablet’s display. They came to the same conclusion at the same time.

“She’s offline!” he shouted urgently.  “Don’t you have someone watching her, for Christ’s sake?”

“Of course I do!”

She brushed her fingers against the skin behind her ear and Pete listened intently to the side of the conversation he could hear. Maddie paced as she spoke.

“Status update, _now!_  …Yes, something’s wrong, she’s gone offline!  …Well why didn’t you insist?  …Are you absolutely certain?  …No, not yet. Hold for orders.”

She whirled back to face Pete.  “Rose is still inside the building with the owner, but I don’t think they’re alone.  My agent described a tall, thin customer with brown hair in a pinstriped suit.”

Pete felt himself steeling, freezing from the inside out.  No one was going to take his daughter from him a second time.

“This alien, this Doctor Rose spoke of,” he growled in a voice barely recognizable as his own.  “He must have found her.”

Maddie nodded uncomfortably.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! I'm back after unforeseen complications that led to a somewhat unpleasant summer with - the next chapter! :)

 

**_Twenty one days, seventeen hours, and fifty-three minutes before:_ **

The Doctor stopped them where they stood.  He’d not made much of the crowd at first, but looking at it now he saw it had more than doubled in only moments, a pace that was only increasing.

_Dammit!_   Pete’s unexpected presence had distracted him and yanked his hearts and thoughts in too many directions at once.

The mob was some distance away yet, but the gap was closing.  The unease Rose had momentarily chased away came swooping back through him to settle in the pit of his stomach.

Reflexively he tugged, pulling her closer.  She came easily, fingers tightening against his with one hand while the other wrapped around his arm.

“Doctor?”

“It’s… ”  He trailed off, searching the crowd with his superior vision.  His attention swam from person to person as he tried to pick out details, to piece together some idea of what was happening.  They were a diverse lot with no obvious commonalities beyond their humanity; yet here they were, united by something important enough to cut through such distinctions.  And they were tense, the low white noise of agitation rippling through the sea of bodies.

Many were dressed in street clothes, but a few wore what looked like uniforms, all the same shade of grey and all bearing some variety of the letters “MMH”.  They were far more nervous, and almost all hid their faces with handkerchiefs or scarves so that all he could see were eyes – jittery but fierce, anonymous eyes.

A few clutched what looked like photographs.  He  knew by the way they clung to them that they could only be pictures of loved ones.

He wasn’t sure which detail disturbed him most.

“Doctor?” Rose murmured again, snapping him out of his thoughts.  He glanced down at her.  “I think… This is some kind of protest, yeah?”

She’d seen enough social unrest in their travels together to know it when she saw it, a thought that gave him the peculiar sensation of simultaneous pride and guilt.  Slowly, still scanning the scene, he nodded.  “It is.”

But what was driving it?  He needed to know more; he had no idea why they were even in this universe, but he had a gut feeling this was connected.  He watched and weighed their options.

The mood in the plaza gradually escalated, and he circled the idea of fleeing the scene.  What had begun as nervous bravery was rising and changing, becoming the kind of restless edginess that whispers riot police and broken glass.  And the throng grew still, relentlessly, closing in fast.

He muttered, “This is very, very not good.”

Claustrophobic anxiety began to wrap itself around him, squeezing.  They weren’t safe here.  Telepathy dampened and time senses stressed by this universe’s unfamiliarity, there was still something,  _something_  scratching at the recesses of his mind.

_Rose.  Rose isn’t safe._ The urge to pull her away grew until there and then she was the single overriding categorical imperative, a visceral need more important than breathing.

The warmth of her palm, skin against skin, conjured a flash of his empty reaching hand and electric air and her fingers losing their grip, white white walls and the blinding hungry pull of the Void.

_Not safe._

That was all.

“We can’t be here,” he declared.  He took a backward step and moved her along with him.

She hesitated.  “Can’t we do something to help?”

He shook his head, apologetic but urgent.  “No.”

Whatever this was, it was beyond their control.  A deeply aggrieved populace was amassing, and they seemed on the brink of exploding into bright, violent flames.

A man holding a megaphone, features cloaked beneath a balaclava, shimmied up a lamppost near the government building.

Ah.  The match that lights the gasoline.

Something jostled the Doctor’s shoulder and he whirled to see people now moving in from behind them, rushing forward en masse now that events were underway.  Soon he and Rose would be surrounded, absorbed in the mob and cut off from exit.

He began to say so when someone darted between them, severing the lifeline of their joined hands.  They fought to re-establish it as more people crushed in around them until finally, he caught her reaching fingers and pulled, forcibly dragging her free.

Breathless, she leaned into him and squeaked, “Let’s get out of here, yeah?”

 “Just stay with me.”  He tightened his hold on her.  “And  _don’t let go.”_

She pressed closer.  “Not a chance.”

 ~~0~~

**PRESENT:**

Rose flailed, eyes screwed shut, all knees and elbows and fists pummelling empty air to fend off some invisible attacker.

Without thinking, the Doctor scrabbled to get a grip on her.  Her response was a sweeping roundhouse punch aimed at his head.

He yelped and caught her wrist just before the blow hit home.  Snatching the other one up for good measure, he trapped her hands tight against his chest.

She kicked and yanked, struggling with all the panicked fury of a wild animal.  Amazed at her strength and fearful she’d hurt herself, he still knew better than to let go.  All he could do was yell, “Rose, stop!   _Stop!_    _Rose!_

_“ **Stop!** ”_

At his last and loudest she slumped back, surrendering to lie trapped, red-faced and snarling.  Her breath came fast and shallow, her brows pulled wire tight over sealed eyelids.

Something feral growled across the surface of his brain.  It was chuffing, sniffing – looking for a way in.

Then it was gone, vanishing before he could be certain it was ever really there, and Rose left him no time to consider it.  Her head snapped back suddenly against the pillow.

She  _howled._

The sound of it sent razor blade shivers across his skin.  It was utterly alien, even to him, a strange multiplicity somehow deafening and haunting, enraged and frightened and mournful all at once.

And so very, very wrong.

His throat constricted; this…  _creature_  wasn’t her.

It wasn’t  _Rose_.

He’d found her – had it really been only moments ago?

He’d found her, and yet she was still missing.

But he’d  _seen_  her, caught that glimpse just before she lost consciousness.  She’d recognised him.  She was there.

She had to be.  Whatever had set this off, she  _had_  to be alive still, inside somewhere and just – just misplaced.  He could not believe anything else.  If he could just calm her enough…

He rallied, determined to do whatever it took to be heard over the ear-splitting keen.  “Stop, love, stop!  I’ve got you; it’s alright..  you can do this…  I’ve got you… you’re safe…”

He kept on for what seemed so long but could only have been seconds, a persistent litany of urging and reassuring, demanding and pleading.  None of it did any good, and the only option he had left would be too dangerous to try if he couldn’t soothe her at all.  He had to find a way.

After an inhumanly long time her lungs were spent.  He rushed into the brief quiet with a voice now hoarse from shouting, and words never said spilled out in a ragged tumble.  “ _Please,_  Rose, open your eyes.  I know you’re there.  You’ve got to come back.  I need you.  You’re scaring me now.  Please.   _Please.”_

She drew a long breath, prelude to another wild cry, and he couldn’t keep the muddy, thick tangle of emotion and frustration from flooding him.  Without thought he burst out,  _“For fuck’s sake, Rose, **it’s me!”**_

The second scream died on her lips.  Her eyes flew open wide.

He’d shocked himself with his own profanity, but maybe that had done it.  He could not stop a glimmer of hope from rising.  A heartsbeat passed, then two, and he waited, but she seemed frozen.  Tentatively, softly, he called her name again.

She startled at the sound, and her vision skittered blindly across empty space, searching for the source.  Her pupils were huge.

Huge and ringed with swirls of luminous gold.  He swallowed past the sudden stone in his throat.

“Rose?”

The unnerving glow flared into fiery clarity, bright and sure and no longer sightless.  Preternaturally swift, her eyes shot up and nothing short of infinity was staring straight and unblinking into the darkest corners of him. 

A voice that was still not quite hers whispered, “They know.”

_What?_

“They know,” she repeated.

“They’re coming.”

Whatever he’d expected her to say, that wasn’t it.  Confusion hammered home once more how little he still knew, how efficiently he’d been stonewalled from the very beginning as he stammered, “What? Who?  Who’s coming?  The Ministry?  Who?”

The light in her eyes flashed white hot.

_“Everyone.”_

 ~~0~~

**_Twenty one days, seventeen hours, and forty-one minutes before:_ **

The Doctor moved against the current as nimbly as he could, darting between people, pushing and squeezing past the ever tightening crush of protesters moving in.  Rose slowed him down but he kept an iron grip on her hand and pulled her along with him.

**_Forty minutes:_ **

He stopped for an instant, and she stumbled into him gracelessly.

He glanced up, gauging their position, and saw they’d made some progress.  Just another few metres and –

Behind them, a megaphone crackled to life and the crowd hushed, stilled with anticipation.  He took advantage of the distraction and quickened his already frantic pace.

**_Thirty-nine minutes:_ **

The voice of unrest boomed through the speaker, shouting,  ** _“What do you want?”_**

A split second of silence followed, then a lone voice, elderly and fragile, found the courage and cried out in a thick Welsh accent, “I want me son back!”

That was the spark that lit the fire, and the crowd roared to life.

**_Thirty-eight minutes:_ **

Chaos poured in around them.  A wall of people surged forward, taking the Doctor stumbling with them.

Rose lost her footing completely and plummeted in the opposite direction.

**_Thirty-seven minutes and 47.6744 seconds:_ **

Her hand was wrenched violently away from him.

Adrenaline flooded him and he dove toward her, crashing into people, heaving them aside and using his own weight to clear a path.  He barely noticed – all he saw was glimpses of blonde moving too fast away from him; all he heard was the roar of his own ears and her voice calling him.

A flash of prescient induction insisted he wasn’t going to reach her.  He ignored it.

Then without warning a heavy gloved hand grabbed his shoulder and sent him spinning.  Before he could react the same hand caught him off balance and shoved.

He hit the ground.  His head cracked hard against the pavement.  It lolled sideways against his will, his cheek pressed into something wet and dark and mixed with the scrape of gravel.

Blood.  His.

_Oh gods. Rose._

Everything went blurry at the edges and impending darkness poured over him like thick honey, cloying and heavy and dragging him under.

He fought, willing himself to stay awake, to get up, to get back to Rose.

His body wouldn’t respond.

Disjointed, distorted flashes swam across his vision.  Black boots.  Military uniforms.   The swing of a rifle.

Memory and waking nightmares bled hazy redwhite into the now, and it was the boots of Cybermen he saw, and it was Torchwood and Daleks and the crackling smell of voidstuff and the  _end,_  the end of it all.

_don’t no hang on hang on_

Her fingers weren’t strong enough and he couldn’t reach her, could do nothing but watch as she fell into the impossibly white absence-of and how could  _nothing_  be so  _bright?_   She crossed into it and in 0.005 nanoseconds the static devoured her without so much as a flicker.

She was gone.

Gone, and forever ended.   _Gone_  and he followed her, pulled into the light as the healing coma overtook him.

 ~~0~~

**PRESENT:**

Pete snatched his overcoat from its hook and shook it at Maddie. “How did you let this happen?”

Anger flashed in Maddie’s eyes before he saw it harnessed, pressed into defiance.  “I did  _not_  ‘let it happen’!  You’ve been running it all, Pete!  We’ve done everything,  _everything_  you asked, and more!”

“Well, obviously your surveillance of  _him_  leaves something to be desired,” he snapped.

She opened her mouth and he knew it was to tell him what he already knew – how hard the alien had been to find, how something about this “Doctor” had eluded their best (admittedly alien provided) equipment.

He cut her off before she could start.  “And her protocol damned well better hold!”

“It ought to!” she shot back.  He raised his eyebrows at the less than complete confidence in her voice and she threw an annoyed glance at the ceiling.  “We’ve never done this before, rewriting the memory centers so extensively.”  She sighed. “I  _told_  you there were risks, Pete.  I told you from the beginning this could open her up to brain injury.”

With more difficulty than he would have liked, he managed to keep his voice level, though it was weighted with sarcasm.  “Well, what is your best  _prediction_ , Madame Scientist?”

She narrowed her eyes at him then took a beat to consider it. Her growing frown told him that he wasn’t going to like what she was about to say.

“Well, Pete, let’s think through it,” she said, no small measure of edginess in her own voice.  “We had to reprogram everything specifically for her from the ground up. But you  _know_  you’re the only one who has the termination sequence. It’s permanently dormant unless  _you_ activate it, and it should stay that way.”

He sensed she wasn’t telling him everything.  “But?”

“But,” she said on a huge exhale, “that might be a problem itself. I honestly can’t predict the outcome of going offline without the termination protocol intact.  It’s never happened.  Her brain could retain its current state, revert, or wind up so much mash she can’t tie her own shoelaces.  There are too many variables.”

It was hardly reassuring, not close to enough; a feeling he couldn’t quite identify was getting louder, more difficult to keep at bay, and it was egging him on. “Maddie, goddamit!  If Rose is hurt – ”

She barked a short, humorless laugh, and he was thoroughly taken aback by the venom in her voice.  “Bit rich to worry about that  _now_.”

At that, a wave swept over him the likes of which he hadn’t felt in a long time.  He drew himself up to his full height and pinned her in place with hard and dangerous eyes. For the first time in their history, to him they were no longer bickering spouses – she was the Minister, but he was the Autocrat, the only person alive more powerful than she was.

“If this ends badly,” he ground out, each word delivered with military precision, “I  _will_  hold you responsible.”

Shocked but unflinching, her chin angled up and she glared back at him with a menacing expression that promised devastation should he go too far.  “Try it, Peter,” she hissed.

For an instant everything slammed to a halt as each of them stared the other down.  Then something broke through in Pete, piercing the steel sheen of his authority.  It was that feeling again, the sharp graveyard nails of something ancient and rusty.  Something that had died forty-three years ago.

It bloomed in his awareness like the blood of a wounded soldier, a vivid crimson-stained flower on crisp white.

It was  _fear_. Fear of losing his daughter.

It was making him rash.

Suddenly exasperated, he shook himself from whatever had overtaken him and barked, “Oh, God, we’re just wasting time!”

Maddie’s expression was inscrutable as he yanked on his overcoat.  He ignored her, hoping she’d forgive him later.  At least insofar as she ever forgave him anything.

He headed toward the doorway as he spoke.  “Tell the agent to wait for reinforcements unless they try to leave, and get a team down there, now.  I want all of your best people.”

She gave him a curt nod and moved two fingers toward the skin behind her ear when he interrupted.

“You go with them, understand?”

Again, she nodded.  “What about you?”

Pete set his jaw.  “Oh, I’m coming with you.”

Again she began to speak, and again he ploughed over her. The need to settle this and settle it permanently clawed at him relentlessly now.  “No argument.  I’m  _personally_  retrieving  _my_  daughter and doing what I should have done before.  No more protocols.  I don’t care what state she’s in.  Your doctors and technicians will come to her.  I’m bringing her directly under my care.”

She seemed to know better than to question him.  “Alright, then.”

He turned away then back, almost as an afterthought, to give her one last order. “And tell them to get rid of that damn alien the first time anyone gets a clear shot.”

 ~~0~~

**PRESENT:**

_Everyone._

The Doctor stared at this not-quite-Rose, into those unending eyes, and a bone deep chill rippled through him and he had no words at all to ask exactly what she meant.

Suddenly she broke away from his gaze and wrenched her hands from him with incredible strength only to pound her fists into the mattress beneath her – once, then again, and again.  He was frozen, gaping and unable to process what was happening.

With the fourth impact, her back arched.

She began to  _spark_ , veins beneath her skin lighting up with streaks of gold, what looked for all the world like –

_energy.  Vortex energy._

_Impossible!_

She looked like she was about to  _regenerate_.

For all its might, his so-impressive, massive brain fell poverty-stricken and he stared at her with owlish shock and unabashed awe.

With one last, mighty slam of her fists, her face morphed somehow and even her body shifted, and the glow abruptly vanished.

She blinked and he knew in an instant she was finally  _finally_  there, just  _Rose, his Rose._ He forgot everything else and saw only her, and a muffled sob of relief escaped him.

She pushed herself up slowly with trembling arms, eyes darting everywhere as she took in her surroundings.  Gingerly, he lowered himself to sit beside her, and as the bed dipped and she sat up fully under her own power, those eyes landed on him.

They were amber and hazel and only Rose, all Rose, full of bewilderment.

“Doctor?”  Her voice was small and hoarse.  “Where are we?  What hap – ”

He didn’t try to rein himself in, didn’t even let her finish her sentence before he shot forward, wrapping her in his arms, enveloping her completely. Disoriented, still she returned the embrace without question, and it undid him completely.  He held on, stroking her hair without letting go, rocking them both back and forth and murmuring her name until tears closed his throat and stung his eyes.

There was a rustle from somewhere behind them and a dumbfounded voice stammered, “What – What the  _hell_  was, was –  _that?!?”_

George.  He’d forgotten the man was even there.

He ignored him and only tightened his hold on Rose.

Held on.  He held on and held on and couldn’t seem to stop until he realised the tables had turned. She was practically rocking him now, shushing and smoothing her hands along his back as she whispered gentling, comforting words.  “Shhh, s’alright, we’re alright, I’m okay, Doctor, I’ve got you, it’s alright…”

He should be the one saying those things.

He pulled back and she took a deep breath, composed herself and met his gaze.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

He should be asking her that.

He cleared his throat and nodded slowly, looking back at her through red,  raw eyes. “I am now.”

The meaning of that wasn’t lost on her, its honesty surprising.  “Something bad happened to me, didn’t it?”

He didn’t know how to begin, what to tell her, what she recalled. His hand leapt to the back of his neck, mussing his disheveled hair even more.  “Erm, well – let’s start off this way.  What’s the last thing you remember?”

“We were in the Tardis and… and we had a rough landing, yeah? Did I hit my head or something?”

Another wave of relief washed over him – could it be she remembered nothing of the past three weeks?

But… no, he’d lied to her before, and he vowed never to do it again.  “No.  Absolutely no head injuries allowed in the Tardis,” he said, trying to lighten the weight of it.

She half-smiled.  “Okay.  But that’s the last thing – ”

Abruptly she switched direction.

“No, wait!  That’s not right.  I… you weren’t…”  She cocked her head, concentrating.  “I was in a really posh room, and I – did I live there once?  I was playing chess with… I dunno.”

_Chess?_

She shook her head, frowning, and he watched as her thoughts doubled back on themselves.  “No.   _No.”_

Her frown grew puzzled, then dread began to steal away her confidence.  “I don’t play chess!” she insisted.  She gave him a pleading look.  “Do I?”

Her confusion was what he’d expected, but this made him wonder just how much the Ministry had mucked about with her brain.  There had only been the one time, in the library, when he’d  _tried_  to teach her to play chess. She loathed it.

He took her hand and replied softly, “No, you don’t play chess. It’s alright, though.  I expected you’d be a bit confused.”

Though his touch was welcome comfort, she was still on the verge of tears.  She shook her head again.  “Yeah, but that’s not – I – Doctor, it’s all mixed up!  Are you sure I didn’t hit my head?”

“I’m sure.”  He opened his arms and said, “Come here.”  She leaned over gratefully and curled into him until she was sitting in his lap like a lost child.  He’d never seen her so vulnerable; she was always so strong.  He wanted to wrap his hands around the neck of whoever was responsible for taking that away from her.

“It’s alright,” he murmured into her hair.  “I promise.  We’ll get back home and I’ll get you fixed right up, you’ll see.”

She quieted then, and it helped him ease himself down from everything they’d just been through as well.  Gradually, other thoughts began trickling through, events to file away for examination later.  Then he caught a glimpse of poor George, sitting in the desk chair now and staring at them with a look bordering on shell-shocked.

How, exactly,  _was_  he going to get her back home?

With a jolt, he remembered the warning.

_They’re coming._

He had to get her out of there.

At that instant Rose stirred and he glanced down at her. It seemed she’d had a thought of her own.

She looked up at him and asked, “Doctor?  Where’s Dad?”

As if a trap door had opened, his stomach plunged past the floorboards.

 ~~0~~

**INDETERMINATE:**

A leviathan Consciousness stirred.  Something had disrupted a connection, severing a link in the collective web that sustained and nourished all things in its realm.  Untroubled, the Consciousness moved without motion through space that was not space, seeking the source of the disturbance in the simultaneous everywheres that were not and yet were.

So many tiny creatures, so distracted, so fraught with the mundanity of their fleeting and finite three dimensional lives.  The Mind was so often (what a strange concept, often) replacing them.

Easily the disturbance was located.

Oh.  The gap in the web was bigger than expected.

The Mind stopped and looked again.

_Peter Tyler._ The small one who thought himself an emperor. It had been nothing to discern that his offspring was the one of true importance.

And she’d been cut off, disconnected somehow.

The Consciousness peered more closely.

Outrage rippled along Its not-body.

**_The Doctor._ **


End file.
